


A Runaway Young Star or Two

by alekth



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Anders alive & well, Background Relationships, F/M, Friendship, Infatuation, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekth/pseuds/alekth
Summary: Running away, freedom for mages, and a normal life. Both Anders and Amell want those things, just not in the same order and at the same time.This story takes place during DA:Awakening, post-DA2 and post-DA:I. Familiarity with their story lines is recommended. Events from Anders' pre-DA2 short story are also briefly referenced.





	1. Things of a Former Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wombuttress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wombuttress/gifts).



Amell’s eyes were different. Not the eyes of the apprentice he had first seen in Irving’s study, nor the peaceful Andraste-like ones looking out from the painting now proudly displayed at Kinloch Hold.

The apprentice had looked at Anders in surprise first, and then in fear. He had been a bloody mess, quite literally, being dragged to the First Enchanter after getting captured once again. The treatment and punishment got harsher after each attempt, too.

“You stay, Amell,” Irving had turned to her, to Amell, and she had slid the book back on the table, slipping back into the upholstered chair without a word. “It is something you should see. You must learn the rules we all need to follow to survive.”

Maker, he hated the bastard.

They had talked on quite a few occasions since that day. She would find him in the library, usually in a section an apprentice wouldn’t be normally permitted to enter, and she’d prod him about the world outside of the tower. It got trying at times, but Anders mostly indulged her, if only because he pitied her. She was exceptionally gifted, that was what everyone was saying about her. At sixteen, she had also already spent a decade in the Circle and remembered next to nothing from before that.

* * *

_Amaranthine, 9:31 Dragon_

Vigil’s Keep had been a rich noble’s home, and it showed. Anders’ own room was opulent enough to put to shame everything in the Circle, with the exception of its library. Amell’s quarters were not only the former master’s, they were overflowing with magic enchantments. A token present from Orzammar, she had called it, and that had been hard to believe until she had told him some of the story.

They were sitting on the floor in front of the enchanted fireplace, holding onto a smooth onyx tankard each. Anders had gulped down his wine, not knowing he was supposed to let the tankard heat it up first. The second serving wouldn’t be long now, and the air was thick with the scent of spices. He felt safe at last, after the events of the day. It had been a disaster, but he also had a friend, and a home. They could talk here, even about what they hated most, the Circle, and it still felt good.

“Not so different from you, actually. Greagoir wanted me dead and the then Warden-Commander of Ferelden conscripted me.” Amell picked up the jar of honey and poured into her tankard generously.

It was surprising to hear that Irving hadn’t been able to protect his star apprentice from the Knight-Commander. All those times the First Enchanter had thrown Anders and others to the templars hadn’t earned him enough sway for when he had needed it.

“Was it the blood magic?” He asked cautiously. He hadn’t seen it done before and the memory still troubled him, advantageous as the outcome might have been. He had stood there helplessly, unable to draw on the Fade as Rylock pushed it away, and for a second he had thought that would be the end. Then a blade had flashed, and Amell’s thin elven sword had found its sheath in the eye slit of the helm of the nearest templar. Everything after that had been efficient and horrific in equal measure. Amell hadn’t seemed particularly distressed by the brutality, and the expression on her face was only vaguely conflicted now, as she adamantly stirred her wine.

“No,” she replied and took a sip. “That came later, for me at least. I don’t do it much nowadays, unless it’s really called for.”

He didn’t know how and where from she had gotten the two unfamiliar mages into the storehouse in less than fifteen minutes. They had been unhappy, quite visibly so, to have to make the remains disappear, but they owed her one debt or another. The Mages’ Collective, Amell had explained on their way out of Amaranthine. The guild kept a low profile, and the discovery of a few dead templars would have them hunted long before anyone dared to voice a suspicion against the Arlessa and Warden-Commander.

“I suppose there is little else that’s effective against a whole bunch of templars,” Anders sighed. He hadn’t let himself be tricked into learning blood magic at the Circle, useful as it would have been during an escape. Healers were already being watched more closely than others.

“Never liked templars much,” her eyes twinkled with inexplicable mirth. “Greagoir was still not happy to see me alive, even after we saved the Circle. It was fun making him admit it though. That, and not caring about the mages in the tower. I suppose I wouldn’t be happy to see him now either, with the autonomy I asked for not happening.”

* * *

Anders wished he could shoot a bow. He could have hidden in a tree and shot an arrow into the phylactery a templar was carrying. They would know where the arrow had come from, though, and still captured him. That wouldn’t work, and he would have never had the time to learn to shoot a straight arrow anyway.

He wished he could shoot a bow so that he could teach Amell how to. The skill hadn’t come with the ancient elven magic that had taught her how to use a sword and the Fade in one, and so it had fallen to Nathaniel Howe to guide her. It wasn’t even a magic skill with him, it was just a mundane bow.

The two had been at it for hours now, because while the bow was mundane, the strength that kept Amell’s arm strong was magic, as were the wisps she had summoned one after another as dusk had started falling. He could do these things now, well, some of them. Call on a wisp, lazily pick a book from the other end of the room, warm Ser Pounce-a-lot’s milk. He loved doing them, being a mage in more than just healing and fighting, even though he still felt some lingering panic whenever he did anything like that in the presence of others. There was never any panic in Amell’s eyes, not even when she casually used magic during a nobles’ meeting.

He was sitting on the stone parapet of the battlements, wishing for this life to go on forever. Killing darkspawn had turned ugly pretty quickly, that part he wasn’t fond of. He liked the keep with its thick walls that weren’t the walls of a prison. He liked healing the people living here, as well as those around the farms and in Amaranthine. Some were still wary of him, of mages in general, but they were always grateful, and little by little he could feel acceptance. Could he really start a new life after twenty years in the Circle, would he ever make it feel as real as Amell did?

A wisp’s light to his left startled him, and there she was, wearing a thick cloak and smelling of lavender. She didn’t speak, just turned her eyes to the shadows of the woods behind the fields.

“Why learn how to shoot a bow?” Anders turned around and slipped off the parapet.

“It was a memory. It came to me today and I wanted to relive it. But it wasn’t the same.” Amell tore her gaze from the horizon and looked at him. “Do you want to do something? You did a lot of things with a lot of people in the Circle, right?”

He could only stare at her at first, his palms suddenly cold from the wind hitting against sweat. She couldn’t possibly be asking him for this, not like that.

“I had someone during the Blight. Well, towards the end of it anyway. I had never done anything before and I never missed it, but now I really do.” She cocked her head to the side and scrunched her nose. “It’s been four months, and now I can’t call her here, not with all this darkspawn. Again.”

When had he forgotten how to do all of this lightheartedly?

“Amell…” he had to cough to clear his throat, and it felt like the last of his blood left his head with that cough. “Are you and this person still together? Not right here and now, but are you going to reunite one of these days?”

“Of course we will,” she huffed. “We still write, but she’s on the move now, and it’s slow.”

It figured that things would happen like that. It wasn’t a new life if the Circle’s bloody rules still lingered. Anders had been through this too many times. Amell hadn’t. She could be free if she knew what that meant, if a dozen years in the Circle hadn’t tried to destroy everything.

“Look, I’m flattered, I really am. But this, too, wouldn’t be the same.”

“I stayed in Orlais for two months, I know…” she rolled her eyes and he grasped her wrist as gently as he could.

“That’s not what I meant. You are free, Amell. What you have can last and be real. Forget what you’ve seen in the Circle.” Anders did his best to summon a teasing smile. “Besides, you’re my commander.”

“Now you are sounding like Mistress Woolsey. You are not old enough for that,” Amell pouted then sighed in resignation. “It’s fine if you don’t want to.”

“I told you why,” his fingers loosened. “You’re not going to ask Nathaniel or…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” her shoulders straightened up and she pulled her hand free. “I wasn’t going to ask anyone else.”

* * *

As no good deed went unpunished, Anders got to hear about Amell’s bard lover quite a few times over the following weeks. At occasions it would sound like a superficial infatuation and he’d falter, wondering whether he’d been wrong to hold back. But every once in a while Amell would utter something so ridiculously lovestruck, Anders would chastise himself for doubting it. The gifts weren’t helping, although it wasn’t just him who got gifts from Amell. His just felt more special, and her smile seemed softer when directed at him.

With every passing day he liked his new life better and better, even though all the while the situation with the darkspawn was turning progressively worse. They had known from the very start that what they were dealing with wasn’t building up to a mindless bunch of hurlocks. When it was over, however, it seemed even Weisshaupt was shaken enough by the reveals, and they sent for Amell. She delayed for as long as she could until there was no way out.

Three weeks passed without word from Amell. Then, on the fourth, a replacement Warden arrived and assumed command.


	2. Of Worlds Past, Present, or to Come

_Nevarra, 9:39 Dragon_

Hawke was still eyeing Amell with wariness and suspicion, holding the door ajar for a few moments too long, before leaving them alone. There was hardly cause for it, both of them too busy wiping their eyes. Anders had just about gotten his tears under control when Amell took two quick steps and wrapped her arms around him, head falling forward and a whine getting muffled into his chest.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” fingers dug into his back as she started shaking and sobbing.

Anders slid one arm around her shoulders and pressed a cheek against her hair. He had never thought they would be meeting again. She might have been the one crying louder, but it was him who was close to losing his balance, the sudden flood of memories and emotions mixing and looping with those of Justice. The blue cracks in his arm turned even brighter, and Anders had to force himself away from Amell, for fear of Justice’s strength crushing her.

“Hey,” he swept a strand of hair unstuck from her face, “it’s all right.”

“I ran. I abandoned all of you and I ran.” She gave out a shaky sigh and lowered her eyes. “After Weisshaupt I went to Orlais… to Leliana. I just wanted to get away from all of that… I didn’t think, I’m sorry.”

He had been worried, given the reservations she had expressed at the time. When she hadn’t come back, there had been more acceptance than resentment. He had been used to people just disappearing, to losing over and over again. He had kept losing, too, as had Justice, until the day Anders had taken the spirit’s offer.

“Amell,” he murmured, wondering just where to start this inevitable conversation. He’d learned from Nathaniel some years ago that the Wardens hadn’t been looking for him to hold him accountable for the deaths of those templars and Wardens in the woods of Amaranthine, that Amell had returned once and fixed things. But all that had been before the chantry.

He pulled her down to sit in front of the fireplace, both avoiding looking the other in the face. 

“Back then I would have done the same, Amell. You’ve saved this world enough, you deserve to have a normal life in it.” He finally tore his gaze away from the flames to turn to her, but she kept her head low, the hair obscuring her face. “How did you find me anyway?” They had been holed up in the north of Nevarra for weeks now, after an operation had gone wrong.

“With some difficulty,” Amell murmured after a few seconds of silence, and lifted her head. “I destroyed your phylactery a long time ago, thought you were better off not being found.” There was some apprehension in her eyes, still bloodshot from the tears. “I had some idea of what had happened, and… I didn’t know what you would be like. Then, when I got word from Nate, I left for Kirkwall… I was too late.”

Her face relaxed, the strain ebbing away. “I’m glad you made it out alive.”

“That’s it?” Anders laughed incredulously. “You’re not going to question what I did there?”

“Well, I don’t suppose writing to Dworkin to ask about how to collapse a building was an option at the time.” Amell’s smile was playful, if still a bit watery.

“It was worse than I had imagined.” Two years later and he couldn’t say more about it than he had said on the very same evening it had happened. It hadn’t worked. The world had seen, and the world hadn’t cared. The Chantry had washed their hands of Meredith. Simply branding her crazy had been all that was needed. No need to look at her, our templars are nothing like that. And he had been branded an apostate madman as well. One whose image to wave around to show people what mages were like. “I truly don’t know what is to be done now. We have moved around, sneaked out people from the Circles, tried to rally them up again. But the templars have cracked down so far that even those who believe won’t spread the word. It feels like one day we will wake up, only to learn of quiet and unchallenged Annulments all over Thedas. People say the Divine is on our side, but I haven’t seen her helping, and she won’t even talk to us.”

“The Divine is hopeless,” Amell spat. “I have spoken to her, and she’s completely out of her depth. She asked for my opinion and advice, one single time. She’ll do nothing about it, just whine about how the templars won’t listen to her.”

“What did you advise her?”

“To hit the Order while she still could. Take away the lyrium and see who stays and listens, and who goes rogue. But no, she won’t do it because it would disrupt order. Just like she did nothing after the Seekers dissolved the College in Cumberland. She’ll keep outward order and quiet with courtly intrigues until she no longer can, then she’ll probably fail to pick a side because it would upset someone still.”

“Then we are on our own?” 

“Should be used to that by now,” Amell sighed, then pulled a stack of letters from her pocket. “You know me and Weisshaupt, we don’t get along. I am afraid I won’t be Warden-Commander for much longer, I am probably on my last probation with them. Still,” she handed him a few pages. The topmost was an extremely official-looking signed document that proclaimed the bearer working on behalf of the Grey Wardens.

“Amell, if I use this and word gets out…” That last probation would be swiftly done with, and he didn’t want to think just how far a punishment from Weisshaupt could go. But the letter could be used to get into the Circle towers, or to slip away from authorities, if accompanied with the right words.

“Use it and don’t worry about it too much,” she shrugged. “I’ve started working on something that will upset them even more, so just take whatever you can, while you still can.”

Anders couldn’t quite imagine what would anger Weisshaupt more than getting the Order involved in a war that would spread across the continent.

“I am looking for a cure for the Calling,” her mouth stretched into a smile, just as his dropped open. For a Grey Warden the Calling was just what happened when one avoided death for too long. It was as inevitable as that. “There is one, Anders. I had hoped merely for a delay at first. But my account of the Architect got me access to some previous reports on him, and on some magic that could have been the cure. That turned out to be a false lead, but one way or the other, it led me to Fiona, the Grand Enchanter they chose after Kirkwall. She has been cured, and she is immune to the Joining now, too.”

Images of Larius flooded Anders’ mind, and of Corypheus, and the dreams. If one could truly leave the Wardens…

“You can imagine how fond Weisshaupt is of the idea of losing their people,” Amell continued, “Avernus, the mage I mentioned, is starting to hear the Calling now, it won’t be long before he goes. Fiona doesn’t know what happened, or so she claims, and she was well protected against mind control. Still, she mentioned a possession.” Amell’s eyes bore into his, and Anders could feel Justice stirring again, urging to be let out.

“Possession is not the answer, I assure you.” Justice could merely keep away the least of it, some of the nightmares.

“I know that simply possession couldn’t account for much. Most Grey Warden mages get possessed once they enter the Deep Roads for the last time. But I want to know what it is like for the spirit. And… I would really like to meet another old friend, if that’s all right.”

* * *

_Ferelden, 9:42 Dragon_

Anders put down the letters and stretched. He felt like himself again after two months of barely being able to walk, and of sleeping more than even the cat did. Hawke had reveled in it, of course, playing the caretaker, spoiling him in every way imaginable, taking dictation. No longer of countless pages of the same old manifesto, although that, too, had its place in this new world.

“You know, Amell, for all you rebelled against being a Grey Warden, you are exceptionally good at both killing darkspawn, and keeping secrets.” He still had trouble believing all of it. “The Divine, really?”

That was at least part of the reason they were getting this house, one too far away from Val Royeaux, tucked in a small valley behind the Brecilian Forest on the eastern coast of Ferelden. He would still need to keep his identity hidden, at least for a while longer. He could frame the Inquisition’s full pardon if he wished to, but the world wasn’t rid of people who wanted him dead. Much better to let them believe he was.

“You think _you_ were surprised? When I told you about taking over small kingdoms, I didn’t have something quite like that in mind. And then there are those awful robes, and the hat! I want to disintegrate that hat!”

Anders smiled at her and wondered if he could get back some of the faith he had lost over the decades. Maybe do a pilgrimage of sorts, visit Nathaniel in Amaranthine, and Aura, too. Visit Ser Pounce-a-lot.

“Is it just us being cured of the taint? What about Nathaniel?” He doubted the Wardens were that angry at Amell for her research, if they even knew of it. It wasn’t like the Joining, there weren’t enough dragons for everyone.

“He wants to be a Warden. Vigil’s Keep is his duty, and he likes it that way.” She looked sideways and hummed. “As for others… well, we’ll see. It will need to stay secret, if it happens.”

“You don’t say,” he chuckled. “I bet everyone wants to read about massive dragon blood rites.”

“Hm, I will still leave a record of it. And you should write your book too, no matter what name you decide to publish it under.” Amell snickered. “Just let me know when you have something, we can publish it through the Chantry.”

Yet another new life, a quiet one after all this time. Neither Hawke nor him were strangers to living on a farm. Anders had tried to probe for any discord from Justice, whether just writing and healing would be enough, but there had been none. It couldn’t be just won cause or the cleansed blood, it was the people as well. The ones he’d lost, but more so the once he hadn’t. The peace and happiness he felt were almost too much to be his alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All titles courtesy of Lord Byron's _The Vision of Judgment_


End file.
